Working Toward Failure
by alioistrancy
Summary: His name is Gamzee Makara and he's just a little bit whimsical in thought, mind, and memory.
1. Pilot - Rushes and Swirls

Blood rushes in his ears as he stares into nothing. Colors race in his mind. The brightness swirling and spinning into one dark, dark color. Blues. Greens. Purples. Brown. Reds. He can't escape it. The pulsing of his blood is so loud it drowns out all other noises; even the most important ones. The ones that wash away the bright, harsh colors into pretty pastels. The noises that gently calm his thudding heart to a gentle drum. They are so hard to hear. Soft whispers are drowned in the noises. The screaming of colors. The racing heart. He can hardly remember the soft noises.

He lifts his chest, trying to sit up. The need to run and see those colors in person is overwhelming. He has to go see those colors. Pouring down walls. On the floor. His hands. The brightness calls him. The brighter the better. His heart quickens at the imagery. The smell is so vivid. The sounds are so close. The colors call to him.

There are restraints on his chest. He can't get up. The calling grows louder; harsher. He needs to get up. He has to see those colors. Noises make their way from his throat; growls. The calling is screaming now. A command. The restraints grow tighter, pulling him back down.

Another growl escapes. Words are lost to him. His heart is pounding in his chest and his breath is quick. He pushes harder. Digging his nails into the firm ground to help him. The restraints can't hold him, he's too strong, and they snap away.

His vision is blurred. Colors are filling his sight. He scrambles forward, his legs wobbling. Everything is loud and nothing makes sense. The only thing in this world he can remember is colors. Bright, disgusting, vile colors. Shades that make him gag. He's shaking. Trembling with pure hatred, or maybe excitement. How could he tell?

Something touches him. Something wretchedly hot against his icy skin. Anger fills him, causing a hiss to leave him. But only briefly can he be filled with anger. The warmth leaves, but then returns. Repeatedly. A motion he remembers through vague memories. The screaming turns to whispers and the bright colors cease to glow.

His breathing shakes as he feels himself calm. Everything is quiet now. Silence fills him.

"Shhhh….." A voice breaks the silence. Gentle and shaky. "Gamzee, relax….shhhh…."

The soft noise. There it is. Breaking down the yells and swirls, into easy touches and relaxing sounds.

The warmth returns, papping softly against his cheek. The noise closer to his ear.

"Gamzee, talk to me?" The warmth speaks quietly, pressing itself completely against Gamzee. A hug. "Shhhhooosh…."

He buries himself into it's shoulder; rubbing roughly, trying to clear his eyes. "...Kar?" Memories slowly flow back to him; and he smiles, rubbing himself a little more gently into Karkat. Of course it's Karkat. Such soft things could only come from someone like him.

"Yea...it's me." He's strained, still papping away.

Gamzee pulls himself back, his eyes lazily focusing on his best friend. The lop-sided smile still present. "Hey." He can hardly remember the harsh noises or the swirling colors. In fact, Gamzee probably couldn't tell you a single one of those colors if you asked him. Things like that are blurry to him.

Karkat nods to himself; a stern frown gracing his features. He removes his hand. "Hi."

Gamzee can't recall why on Alternia his moirail would be giving him a look like that, but then again Karkat wasn't one for smiles. He brings their foreheads together, a 'honk' quietly leaving him.

Gamzee couldn't remember coming down to the basement or making this pile of blankets, but it was nice to spend some time with Karkat. He laid back onto the pile bringing Karkat down with him. "You know, Bro? I can't remember worth a motherfuck why we're down here so often, but this pile is so soft."

Karkat makes a noise; something between a grunt and a sigh.

His name is Gamzee Makara and he's just a little bit whimsical in thought, mind, and memory.


	2. Red

Bubbling noises made their way to the surface of his consciousness. Deep rumbles, as if trapped underwater. He could breathe. Or could he? It was hard to tell; nothing was really making sense. The darkness was just growling at him, urging him. Threatening him. This state of mind seemed dangerous, almost deadly. He had to tell Karkat. Karkat could make everything soft pastels again, replacing the deep darkness that was around him now.

Somehow though, he found a strange comfort in this nothing. This deep, lonely abyss. No one was hear. No one could say anything to or about him; and if they did, why would he care if he's here and they're there.

The grumbling grew louder, almost deafening, but for Gamzee that was a wonderful thing. He can't stand the silence. It leaves him alone to think about things. Things Karkat said weren't good things to think. The growling gave him a focus point, keeping his mind out of the waves of rituals that can plague him.

Rituals.

Rituals.

Rituals.

This word is eerie. Weirdly familiar. It has the same weight as the word 'dangerous' does. He doesn't really identify with those words, but those words seem to identify with him. Usually that's quite worrying, but right now in this dark; why would it matter?

Karkat would be mad. Mad that these thoughts are so clear. Maybe that's not why, actually. He would worry. He's a worrier, always on Gamzee about one thing or another. Telling him the right fro the wrong and holding his hand. Being so kind and so gentle and sweet.

Disgusting.

The deep bubbles turned to bright red sirens. Blasting and blaring. Everything was so bright, but so dark all at once. The bright red piercing through Gamzee. It hurt.

Disgusting.

Terrible.

Wretched.

Aggravating.

The sirens drowned coherent thought. Suddenly, everything was scattered. Nothing was making sense. He couldn't breathe, this time he was sure. The red was drowning him.

Ugly.

It was hot.

Unworthy.

Something was on him. It was burning.

Unlovable.

Stop.

Freakish.

Stop.

Sinful.

Stop.

Mutation.

"Stop!" Everything was quiet. His eyes were open and everything was pastel again. He could see the ceiling. No one was around. No one was there. He dragged himself off the floor, tripping over his own legs.

What was that…? He couldn't remember much of it. It had something to do with Karkat….maybe? Or was it the water? It was all slipping away, soon he was left standing in the middle of the floor. Just thinking.

"Red. Karkat." Gamzee uttered. That's all he could remember. Nothing else came to mind. No matter how deep he tried to go, or how much he tried to dig. Nothing came up. "Hm...Karkat is red?" Nothing was making sense suddenly. "No..." He was confusing himself already. Trying to piece together a puzzle without even seeing the picture. "Karkat is pale. Not red..." Surely he didn't feel flushed for his bro. That wouldn't make any sense.

But why else would he dream of red?

He sat back down on the floor, trying to figure out his dream.

Did he even have a dream? Or was it a thought?

Are they the same thing?

Can you think in a dream?

…

"Hm. Fuckin' shit, the world is full of confusing and miraculous things. Dreams must be one of them." Gamzee smiled, searching around the floor for his husk-top. Karkat would love to hear about this. "Maybe thoughts are too? Maybe I just think that I'm thinkin' right now, when really I'm dreaming?" He had to stop typing to figure that one out.

Oh? Karkat wasn't online. "Oh motherfuck...where's my little pale bro gone to."

"What?"

He froze. That was not what he expected to hear. Turning around, he saw just who he was looking for. "Kar!" How exciting. His best friend was here and he didn't even know about it. "I was just about to get typing to you about some wicked shit I just thought about!" He was grinning. It was large and toothy, as it always was. Genuinely happy.

"I've been here for three hours, dick bag. You've been sleeping your fucking life cells away and you wouldn't wake up." He was grumpy. Precious. Karkat always had so much anger when he spoke, Gamzee has always admired him for being able to speaks his mind and insult people at the same time. Truly a skill that not just anyone can have.

"Have you? Oh, I'm sorry bro. You know how it is when you, like, fall asleep and shit."

"Yea asswipe, you sleep. No shit."

Gamzee continued to smile, Karkat immediately putting him into a sense of familiarity. This was nice.

"What does red mean again?"

Red.

"Red?"

Gamzee nodded, gesturing for Karkat to sit down with him.

"Red is flushed idiot. The romance quadrant? Ring a bell?" He nearly growled taking a seat next to Gamzee.

He nodded again, this time a little slower. That doesn't make sense to him. "Nothing else is red?"

"What?" Karkat looked a little taken aback, not liking the sudden questions.

"Is that the only red there is?"

"...yea. I guess so...why?" This may be getting dangerous.

"Well, remember my dream? It was all kinds of red, like real red. And I know you were in the dream too, but I can't remember what you were up to." He tried to think back again. "But that's all I got. My dream was red and you were in it. So I got to thinkin' about that red quadrant you talk about so much and how red that is." Karkat slowly made his way closer to Gamzee, a new expression upon his features. "But I know that you are my palest bro and I really love being all diamonds with you, so I was confused as to why I would be dreaming in red when I feel so pale?"

Karkat was silent, an intense gaze set directly to Gamzee.

He took the silence as a confirmation. "Doesn't make sense, right? That's what I thought, so I figured it must be something different. Maybe another kind of red?"

Karkat pressed his hands to Gamzee's cheeks, papping gently. "Can we not talk about your inability to separate and understand quadrants like a normal fucking troll?" His voice was soft, like it was an actual request. The tone in his voice added a 'please' on the end without him having to say it.

That was weird.

"Well...okay then. Is it really gonna be okay if we just leave it alone?" Gamzee may or may not have been a little worried at this point, Karkat was hardly ever so docile.

"Yea, it'll be okay. I promise."

A promise is a promise they say. It's just words. And sadly for some, words cannot change fate.


End file.
